In Love and War
by Shoduna
Summary: Peter. Claire. Food fight. Enough said.


It all started with an (seemingly) innocent bunch of grapes.

Claire had lived with Peter for two weeks, three days, and twenty-one hours before realizing just how very hungry she was. Her mother --- her adoptive mother that is --- back in Texas loved to make extravagant meals for the whole family to sit down to at dinner time. Peter? Not so much.

It wasn't as if they didn't eat their meals together. They did, in fact, eat almost all meals together. Peter was good company as an apartment-mate, and more than generous in terms of sharing his space and food with Claire. He just, as a male in his twenties living alone (up until that point, at least), didn't have a particularly good idea of what constituted a healthy, wholesome meal. So Claire, after the fifth straight day of leftover pizza, decided to take matters into her own hands.

She took (borrowed!) forty-five dollars from Peter's wallet in the morning, fully intending to pay him back once circumstances allowed her to actually make some money. The corner store had a fairly large selection of foods (though none of it gourmet), and Claire purchased some pasta, sauce, fruit, and baking materials for less than thirty dollars. She returned the leftover money while Peter took his shower, and set to work in the kitchen.

His apartment, though by no means large (he did live in New York City, after all), had a fairly well equipped kitchen. Claire hurriedly boiled the pasta and cooked the sauce, all the while anxiously monitoring the batch of rolls baking in the oven. She wished, in vain, that she had the power to bend time, like Hiro. Cooking was hard work.

In half an hour, at precisely six o'clock, Claire finished her preparations. She set up napkins and utensils on the table, adding a glass of wine for Peter and cranberry juice for herself at either end of the table. She barely had time to place the steaming food on the table before Peter wandered in, following his nose.

"What smells so good?" he asked, rubbing a hand through his wet hair. The sight of the over-flowing table made him stop dead in his tracks. "Claire… What is all this?"

She smiled. "This," she said, gesturing at the spread before her. "This is dinner."

"You cook?"

"I do cook," Claire affirmed, nodding her chin solemnly. "It's one of many hidden talents."

Peter laughed and took his seat in the chair across from her. "Well, it looks great. I have to admit, leftover pizza was growing kind of old."

Claire smiled, delighted. She jumped out of her chair as Peter sat down. "Let me serve you," she said, reaching for the serving spoon.

"Nope," Peter said, telekinetically moving said spoon to his side before she could reach it.

"Hey! Not fair!"

"What's not fair is you serving after you slaved over this meal," Peter retorted. "Allow me."

As he reached over to start serving the pasta, Claire grabbed the spoon back. "This, Peter Petrelli, is my gift to you for putting up with my invasion of your apartment. Now, allow me."

Peter watched her skeptically for a moment, and then discreetly summoned a bunch of grapes to his hand. "You, Claire, are not a problem as a guest. Much better than my last, as a matter of fact. Don't you dare continue shooting yourself down."

"Oh come on," Claire said, carefully spooning a good-sized portion of sauce onto Peter's plate. "You're just happy I made you dinner. I know I'm really a pain in your ass."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Claire felt something wet explode on the side of her face. She reached up to touch it, and felt the slimy remains of a grape trickle down her fingers. Peter sat twiddling his thumbs, a look of devilish innocence playing across his face.

"Did you just throw a grape at me?" Claire asked incredulously.

"Possibly," Peter said, staring at the ceiling. He could barely control his grin.

"And I thought you were the older, more mature one in this relationship," Claire said, feigning anger.

"Well… What are you gonna do about it?"

Claire looked down at Peter's deftly prepared plate. She took a handful of pasta. "I'm going to do this," she said, chucking said handful at his head.

The pasta struck Peter square in the face. Most of the noodles fell to the floor, but a few stuck on his cheeks in odd patterns. Claire doubled over in laughter.

"Okay, that's it," Peter said. He grabbed the bowl of salad and the bunch of grapes off the table and ran towards the opposite corner of the room, launching grapes and cucumbers over his shoulder as he moved.

Claire took the pasta and rolls for herself. She ducked behind the table and threw a roll, covered in butter, towards Peter. It hit the side of his head, dripping down his hair. Just then, Claire had to cover her head as a barrage of grapes came flying towards her.

"Hey!" she screamed from underneath her cover. "No powers! Not fair!"

Peter laughed. "Since when do you fight fair?"

She snickered. "Good point. But don't say I didn't warn you!"

Taking a moment to collect herself, Claire heaved the entire pot of sauce into her arms and ran throw the storm of grapes towards Peter. He attempted to dive out of the way but Claire was too fast. Just as Peter turned his face, the whole pot came pouring over his body.

"Ow!" he screamed. "That was hot!"

His anger subsided in a few moments as his body regenerated itself against the minor burns. Peter was left sitting crossly on the floor, gazing at Claire shrewdly.

She shrugged her shoulders. "You started it. And you didn't fight fair."

"All's fair in love and war." Peter laughed, looking at her. "How can I be angry with you when you have carrot in your hair?"

He reached out and gently removed several strands of shredded carrot from her golden hair. Normally lustrous, it hung limply over her shoulders, covered in salad dressing.

"Oh great, my hair's probably a disgusting mess. I'm definitely going to need a shower to try to look at least halfway decent now," Claire said, looking down at her stained clothing and skin.

Peter brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "You look beautiful, Claire. You always do."

His gaze was passionate, and Claire felt her entire body warm as she shyly returned his stare. They locked eyes for several long minutes before the phone rang, breaking the intensity of the moment. Peter scrambled to his feet, and held out a hand for Claire, helping her up.

"Uh, I'm going to go shower," she said. "I might be awhile."

Peter nodded and smiled after her, distracted. He answered the phone, and, as Claire was heading to the bathroom, called for her to wait.

"That was just Mohinder," Peter said, covering the mouth of the phone with his hand. "You better take a quick shower."

"Why?" Claire asked, puzzled.

"We're going out for pizza."


End file.
